


Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go

by abrawmclaren



Series: Stay [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Lives, Anakin isn't a whiny petulant child, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Fishing, M/M, Mature Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Poor Obi-Wan, Protective Obi-Wan, Top Palpatine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:41:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrawmclaren/pseuds/abrawmclaren
Summary: A decade has passed since Palpatine's trial and subsequent exile. An Empire is born despite the would-be emperor's absence, and Obi-Wan Kenobi goes to Naboo to ask for the help - and forgiveness - of his former apprentice.





	1. Summons

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't leave this well enough alone. The idea for this extension has been in my head for about two weeks now, and I had to write it. 
> 
> The narrative switches from Obi-Wan's POV to that of Palpatine, but there are some planned interjections from Tarkin and Ahsoka as well. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's self-deprecation is interrupted by an order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a painfully short chapter, but as usual I want to focus on Palpakin within the realm of these returning relationships. There are so many apologies they all owe each other; a slow start was necessary. A teaser, if you will.

There is a story that the Jedi will never tell you. Its truth has died on the lips of those Jedi who did not go into hiding, but chose to stand as sentinels against the coming darkness. They knew the truth of Anakin Skywalker's fall from grace, of Senator Padme Amidala's true identity, of Sheev Palpatine's would-be evil spread throughout the galaxy like a cancer. The truth of the Clone Wars and their inception, of the creation of its clone army; and finally, of the failings of the Order.

Obi-Wan has had ten years to consider all of these things and so many more that have been lost to the dunes of the Jundland Wastes, screamed from a parched throat into the wind to be taken by the swirling sand. Banthas do not tell secrets, thankfully.

Time does not heal. This was the first of the great untruths he used to blindly feed to his apprentice. There were many days, so very many, that he couldn't can't sleep for revisiting the nightmare that was the Republic; and there hasn't been a single day since in which Obi-Wan has not felt the condemnation of complicity. The dusting of white hair in his beard, and which has spawned from the crown of his head and seems to fan outward as the years have worn on, remind him of the passage of time - but there is no catharsis in the cold, windy nights on the dunes. There is no respite for the wicked, and during those years Obi-Wan wonders before accepting that his actions were no better than those of Palpatine for their negligence.

When a transmission from the Outer Rim comes to him, almost impossibly encrypted, he knew that the darkness had finally come. The entire galaxy had waited with bated breath as the Senate began to crumble, eventually toppling under the weight of increased military spending and alliances with clandestine banking clans. It was Yoda, calling the Jedi Council to meet on Naboo. For a moment, the Jedi couldn't breathe; only one name came to mind:

Anakin.

The transmission, once read and encrypted, is followed by a hologram projection. Obi-Wan barely has time to rise to his feet before the image of the small, bent form of the Jedi Grand Master materializes before him.

"Dressed in your robes, you are not."

"A curious greeting, Master Yoda." He ensures that he does not sound petulant or condescending; it truly is an odd way to say hello after a decade of exile.

"Apologies I can ill afford; come to Naboo, you must."

"Master" he begins carefully "with respect, shouldn't our place in this matter be on Coruscant?"

Yoda sadly shakes his head, tapping his walking stick on the ground beneath him. "Too dangerous, it is. Enemies of the Jedi are all who reside there."

"'Enemies'?"

"Come has the darkness. Go to Naboo you must, and see Anakin Skywalker. Time for him to become a Jedi Master, it is."

Obi-Wan can't believe what he's hearing. "He's serving a sentence, Master Yoda! Not unlike Palpatine, who was, if you recall, about to tear the galaxy apart with his bare hands."

"The order of this new era, second chances are. Be mindful you will, Master Kenobi, and lay down your hubris."

The hologram crackles and dies, and Obi-Wan buries his head in his hands.

To Naboo, then.


	2. make a way for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations are made for the arrival of the Jedi and two delegates from the Galactic Senate. Palpatine worries for Anakin’s well-being, examining the ways that Skywalker’s beliefs about the Jedi Order have changed over the years.

On the edges of these fractals of light streaming through Alderaanian marble are miniscule promises; promises of redemption, of newness, of the itchy red skin of a man reborn. It is during these sunrises that Sheev Palpatine has experienced a curious rejuvenation each morning since his exile, though his life does not befit a prisoner of the Republic. Firstly, there is no longer a Republic; at least, there remains a Galactic Republic and its Senate, but the title is balanced as precariously as Onoam and Veruna fighting for purchase when the sun rises each day. He knows, because there is a flimsiplast in his hand containing such information, that there will be a council convened on Naboo for the hopeful purpose of delivering the galaxy from the ledge on which it teeters. Perhaps watching this constant tipping of the scales is punishment enough as he lives in relative contentment, charged with menial though valuable administrative tasks in service to the monarch.

He could not, even if he were so inclined, reconnect himself to the Dark Side; the transfusions of midichlorians with the blood of a non-Sensitive human have been successful, though he retains something of a shadow of the clairvoyance with which he was once blessed. Even so, the sensation is a whisper of a breeze on the back of his neck, causing the hair to raise but which affords nothing beyond the base intuition with which all beings are blessed. It endures for a fraction of a second before he is left to wonder if he felt anything at all, or if it’s a shadow of his own longing.

Despite being in the middle of the winter cycle, Naboo is unseasonably warm. Thick blankets of snow fall, but are washed away by persistent sheets of rain for days on end before the process repeats itself. Now, in the mid-morning hours, the sun has risen to a height conducive to melting the snow from the naked boughs of trees surrounding Theed, an otherworldly ambiance through which Palpatine walked - his boots crunching persistent snow beneath his feet, and droplets of water falling on the outer layer of his elaborate robes.

A little water wouldn’t kill him, but the slate of meetings this morning were somewhat dependent on his ability to maintain an air of nobility and elegance. Thanks in large part to the recently-discovered wealth of Darth Vectivus, he and Anakin had not needed to rely upon the admittedly padded salary with which Palpatine was inordinately blessed; the Jedi, still deeply committed to the frugality of his ancient religion, maintained his distance from the credits in their account, preferring to fish and hunt game with the men of the remote village near the Gallo Mountains. Gone for days at a time, he would return with food enough to last them several standard weeks. He was on one such expedition now, and would undoubtedly return with nerf meat and a cargo container full of root vegetables - enough to last the winter, Anakin had told his aging charge before his departure one standard week prior. It was provincial and charming, the way Skywalker preferred to live - a simple life after sacrificing his youth to war and his mind to torment as a beleaguered Jedi Knight in the golden years of the Republic, the Sith-in-name couldn’t blame the man for the simplicity he endeavored to uphold. Palpatine had mostly succeeded in forgiving himself, but the scars Anakin bore - both physical and psychological - were not ones which Palpatine could acquit himself so easily.

Nevertheless, even if he cannot stretch his consciousness to feel whatever Anakin may yet toil over, he knows that the coming weeks will pull the Jedi from his cocoon of predictable routine and seamless living to bring him back to a past which remained unacknowledged. In the safety of the former Chancellor’s layers of brocade is secured a flimsiplast containing information regarding a most auspicious visit; what remains of the Jedi Order and select members of a burgeoning rebellion against the growing shadow of the Galactic Empire - which did flourish even without Palpatine’s hand. His worst nightmare has been given breath, a body - a life. Anakin would know in due course, but the elder Sith maintained a foolish hope that the war-torn Jedi would lean on the maturation of his years to overlook the emotional demands of such a meeting. Palpatine noticed that he took Anakin’s rough hands frequently, thumbing circles over knuckles which had only just begun to show signs of arthritis. He touched Anakin now, gentle reassurances he knows will soothe the beast inside, to perhaps allay some of Anakin’s forthcoming pain. Jedi Master Kenobi would be in attendance, and his presence alone could throw off course the swiftly-tilting planet that ordered and orbited Anakin’s sole source of truth. Then again, the passage of time may not heal those old wounds - but they could yet be arbiters of forgiveness on both sides. Palpatine was no longer conniving; only meddlesome, he mused. To make dance the marionnettes was his speciality long before he embraced the Darkness, and he finds himself wishing to pull the strings once more if only to ensure that his Bond did not suffer unduly.

The Queen had summoned him to discuss preparations to host the diplomatic guests. In Anakin’s absence, a security adviser pro-tem had been consulted although it would be the Jedi’s responsibility to ensure the safety of all involved. Palpatine had begged Anakin not to go to the mountain village, but perhaps he should have suspected that Anakin had known long before what was about to happen. Palpatine could not practice mental shielding, which left his mind vulnerable to Anakin’s mental questing. It was foolish to believe that the Jedi hadn’t felt so much as a tendril of foresight, but his embrace when he left their manor - ardent, passionate, blameless - had not betrayed anything other than affection. Palpatine had long since promised himself that he would not dwell on the oft-complex matrices that made up Anakin Skywalker. The man was happy enough to hunt for three standard weeks, and return home to the being he loved. It had been thus for many years, and Palpatine rarely felt like an exile. He had Anakin to thank for that - a taste of honey amid his lifelong punishment. Watching the Empire mature into a fully-formed force was its own condemnation; but he carried on his person a way to perhaps facilitate a way to combat the coming darkness - perhaps even to defeat it. Surely Anakin would not begrudge him his duties as Theed’s administrator and a genuine desire to effect change?

He was meeting Her Majesty in the confidence of few others; a veteran of the Clone Wars, Director Kane Therol of Royal Security, and the magnanimous Chancellor Mon Mothma of the Galactic Senate. As the senatorial body is primarily an extension of the current Empire, her presence required weeks of negotiation and, frankly, espionage in order to secure. It is only Palpatine’s Force connection that is broken; not his vast influence and power of persuasion. It is largely due to his work that Mothma was able to steal away to Naboo for this meeting, but Her Majesty took responsibility as a diplomat with some immunity to consequence, should the Empire come knocking. They would, as Naboo boasts resources crucial to the warring efforts of the new Imperial government; Palpatine was working day and night to stave them off while also attempting to keep his efforts concealed lest Anakin sense something that could spiral into Palpatine breaking Her Majesty’s confidence. It was a delicate dance indeed, but then, Palpatine was well-suited to such challenges.

He produces the flimsi without much fanfare and hands it to the Queen, bowing at the waist and sitting down to Chancellor Mothma’s right. The willowy, porcelain-skinned woman acknowledged his presence with a nod.

By way of explanation, and as they still waited for Director Therol’s arrival, Palpatine folded his hands and ironed out any potential anxiety in his voice. “That document contains the exact arrival time of each Jedi and the senators who will accompany them. Bail Organa of Alderaan is included in their number; he is our contact within the Alliance. His safety during his stay on Naboo is of the utmost importance.”

The Queen takes a deep breath, showing no excess emotion, but Palpatine can swear that he feels something like nervousness emanating from under her regnal vestments. Her Majesty is well-aware of the seriousness of this council, the potential treason with which they could all be charged if they were caught harboring Jedi and senators who oppose the Empire. “He will go to the village near the Galla Mountains; we cannot risk his being recognized in Theed. A prudent measure, Palpatine. Where is Jedi Skywalker?”

”In point of fact, he is in the very same place, Your Majesty. Perhaps he can be utilized as guide and protection for Senator Organa’s journey to and from.”

”Indeed. Make the necessary arrangements.”

 _Perfect_ , Palpatine sighed. This way, Anakin’s aid is enlisted, he will know without Palpatine himself having to admit any possible culpability in having to keep this knowledge from him, and the delegates from the Senate would be safer with him than with anyone else.

”Yes, Your Majesty.”

Turning her attention to Chancellor Mothma, the monarch daringly arches an eyebrow. Typically, a queen of Naboo does not appear to be anything other than stalwart and stoic as the moon goddess their people venerate, but an alarming change has befallen the monarchy and this particular Naboo Regina has ventured so far as to appear completely human. Against his will, the side of Palpatine’s mouth quirks in a half-smile.

”Chancellor, you will go with Jedi Skywalker and Senator Organa. The risk is too great; and the Jedi will remain in Theed, as their presence is easier concealed. I trust you will forgive this abrupt change of plan.”

”Of course.”

”You will find that the remote people of Galla are no friends of the Empire. Additionally, the head of Theed Security, Director Therol -” she nods to the man, entering the room seemingly on cue - “will work tirelessly to ensure that your whereabouts are kept at a clearance too high for any Senator or Imperial inquiry to achieve.”

Director Therol was barrel-chested, stocky, with a square jaw and a close-cropped military haircut that made his snow-white hair nearly blinding. He wore a uniform much like the one Palpatine had gifted Anakin, but its cut was modern and, rather than a ceremonial saber, his sidearm was a blaster pistol held in a black syntheleather holster. The plated belt buckle caught the light as he stood at a modified parade rest; the monarch nodded, and he began his briefing in a calming, smooth bass.

”As you are all aware, there will convene a council of concerned senators, the Chancellor herself, and what remains of the Jedi Council. The purpose of this meeting is to receive the information proffered by Senator Organa, one of the founding members of the Rebel Alliance. With this information, we will better be able to anticipate the movement of the Empire’s influence across the galaxy and work to neutralize and eradicate it.” Therol punches a sequence of commands on the holopad, and a red spherical diagram buzzes to life. “This” the Director continues “is what we have now learned is meant to be a superweapon. Its purpose is presumably to completely annihilate planets who refuse to partner with the Empire, although its weapons function and true capacity are currently unknown. Senator Organa has a contact within the Empire’s Corps of Engineers, although he is reticent to provide the name of his contact.”

”Understandable” Chancellor Mothma replies cooly. “Many lives have been risked and taken just to find this information.”

”That many have and will pay for this knowledge with their lives is to be expected, Chancellor. The bloodshed will continue on unabated if we do not act quickly.” Therol pierced the Chancellor with an unblinking challenge. A veteran of two wars, he was not a man to mince words and openly defied anyone who believed that freedom was easily won and did not need to be maintained thereafter.

”I am not a simpleton, Director, but my mandate as Chancellor is to champion the people. I cannot do this if they are all dead.”

”The Chancellor has a point” Palpatine says softly “but I agree with Director Therol. It isn’t possible to avoid the violence that will follow. The best outcome of the next three standard weeks is the birth of hope and strategic planning at the conclusion of the forthcoming conference.”

”Well met” Therol grumbles, finally breaking eye contact with Mon Mothma. If Palpatine didn’t know better, he would question whether or not the Chancellor and the Director also entertained some sort of relationship apart from their respective offices. The tension in the room was nearly tangible; Palpatine made a note to ask Anakin about it upon his return.

Director Therol recovered from his brief flirtation with indignance, continuing soberly “We will need to send a detachment to the village near Galla to inform Jedi Skywalker of his new orders.”

”That won’t be necessary” the Queen replied smoothly. There existed an edge to her words, as though Director Therol had been presumptuous; as though he were a child and Her Majesty was scolding him. “Jedi Skywalker will remain in the village until the conference begins. He will escort Senator Organa and Chancellor Mothma back to the village in between sessions. Jedi Master Kenobi will accompany them.”

Director Therol’s booming laugh filled the small chamber, reverberating up through the high-vaulted ceilings. It was a nervous laughter, that of a man who endeavored to show restraint and diplomacy but who ended up sounding petulant and desperate. “I thought all Jedi were to remain in Theed, Majesty.”

”Am I not queen, Director Therol? I will adjust our preparations as I am directed by a source far greater than yours. You are all dismissed - save for Palpatine.”

Obediently, though with a hint of annoyance under the surface, the small gathering of handmaidens, a red-faced Director Therol, and a scant few others quickly and quietly made their exit. Palpatine felt the hair on the back of his neck rise in that most familiar way.

”Have I perhaps been too demanding?”

It is not unusual for the queen to solicit Palpatine’s counsel, though her penchant for doing so had increased in frequency and severity over the years. Her predecessor, the queen who handed down Palpatine’s sentence, had imbued her successor with the foresight and tools she would need to utilize the former Sith while also maintaining what was ultimately a relationship between a judge and the accused. Palpatine offered his thoughts only when Her Majesty asked, and sometimes would recommend that she give him time to process a situation before divesting himself of an opinion either way. Now was not the time to ask for a tabling of those thoughts.

”Are you asking me as your administrator, or your friend?”

The queen inclines a pale, regal neck. “I am asking you to tell me truly if Director Therol understands the unique position in which we are about to thrust Jedi Skywalker. Will he work alongside Director Therol with minimal abrasion?”

”He has certainly shed the bulk of his youthful insolence, although his relationship with the Jedi Order remains a topic which is forbidden to me. I believe that he will function well with Director Therol, but the choice to send Master Kenobi with him to the village near Galla may be prohibitively difficult.”

It is no exaggeration, and indeed why Palpatine had decided against broaching the subject of Kenobi’s visit. Offering a prelude to the emotional upheaval of seeing his former master would perhaps create conflict, though only internally - Anakin would never presume to derail the purpose of the conference as a result of his own inner turmoil. Then again, Anakin and Kenobi had parted company on civil terms, and hardly as friends.

”How so?”

”Anakin mentioned that Master Kenobi had attempted to keep secret the birth of his children. As Jedi were and to my knowledge remain barred from any kind of attachment, it was a final effort to align Anakin with Master Kenobi’s teachings.”

”What does Jedi Skywalker believe about the Jedi as a whole?”

Palpatine’s mouth suddenly contained no moisture. They had discussed this many times over the last decade, although Anakin preferred to keep his beliefs to himself - and for good reason. The Order didn’t exist and hadn’t since Palpatine was acquitted, but the Jedi were far from dead. Their ideals, their tenets, everything lived on in a state of suspended animation, though Anakin himself no longer believed in many of those tenets.

”Anakin believes” Palpatine began carefully, adjusting his shimmersilk cravat with an elegant, shaking hand “that the Jedi are just as much at fault for the trevails of the galaxy as the Sith. Anakin believes that two extremes cannot bear peace.”

”And you?” the queen asks, reclining as though they were discussing weather or menial trade policies.

”I believe that Anakin is correct.”


	3. truth in the wild hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While hunting near the Galla Mountains, Anakin feels a distinct presence whose origins are both familiar and vexing.

Padme had traversed the Galla Mountains many times; she had told him so in moments of nostalgic repose, when his time at the front was temporarily abated and they could feed the illusion that their relationship wasn’t forbidden. She had explained how nature is revered as a sentient, sacred being, no less venerated than the moon goddess which stood head and shoulders above any deity the history of the planet had known. Padme had gone to the mountains whenever she sought counsel, whenever her vocation as queen became too demanding, and whenever she was troubled by any inconvenience - minor or otherwise.

Anakin found that he answered the call of the wilderness because he needed to reconnect with the humbling properties of the natural world. The remote village adjacent to those mountains, _Kinasa_ , named loosely by its natives who had lived there for generations, had become a place of refuge for the Jedi. Although he did not seek refuge from his charge and Bond, he did find that in order to refresh his connection to the Force, there existed a need to separate himself from the opulence and color of Theed to commune with simplicity itself.

He fletched a spearhead alongside Fentis, the unofficial leader of the rural village. They worked alongside one another in a companionable silence, and hunted in much the same way. Since nerf are nomadic beasts with no innate athletic qualities, they did not venture far up the mountains - enough to graze along the crest of a hillside leading to a vista, but certainly not beyond. Their exploits rarely lasted entire days. On a typical morning, they would rise in the comfort of a longhouse heated by an open hearth in the middle, beds belonging to the warriors of the tribe surrounded by its warmth. They would don spear and light armor, primarily made of nerf leather. Following a breakfast of fruit and nuts, as the sun had just begun its ascent, they would depart the village for one of the four known places around the base of the mountain rage where nerf most frequently gather. Fentis would fell one, and Anakin would follow as he is only a guest and the first kill belongs to the elder tribesman. There is beauty in this routine, and Anakin feels the Force coursing through his veins and pushing through the wind which occasionally catches their throws and misaligns their spears with the intended target. But they always return to the village with two; sometimes three. Today, they would have three.

”How long, this time?” Fentis has grown used to the presence of the Jedi; though he is still an outlander, their friendship is unassailable. They share the warrior’s bond, though each for different things, and Anakin respects that his companion maintains the old ways - including respecting his fellow beings, even if they do come from different worlds.

”Another week, at least. Our stores were depleted when I came out, although the vernal cycle will bring crops from the vineyard. The need won’t arise again until high autumn.”

”No” Fentis laughs “that isn’t what I meant. How long are you going to pretend that you can grow a respectable beard?”

Anakin laughs throatily, clapping his friend on the back. He does not groom himself in the wilds of the Galla, preferring to fully assume the role of tribesman rather than stately Jedi. His beard is full, with a light dusting of gray. It makes him appear far older than he is, with his hair also uncut and curling over his ears as it had shortly before the Clone Wars began in earnest.“It will be gone before we part company, my friend.”

Fentis is middle-aged, broad-shouldered and impossibly muscled from the demanding life of a Kinasa warrior. He grew to manhood in the lake country, but his father was the leader of the tribe before him and called his son back to the village of his forebears to assume his rightful place as their harbinger. “Do you ever regret staying here?”

The huntsman pops a handful of berries into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “There have been times when I wonder if it isn’t futile, living like this when the comfort of modernity is a two-day journey away. Then again, I owe my father this honor. And his father, and his father.”

”I didn’t have a father.”

”Then the only man to whom you owe anything at all is yourself, and that is a lonely position indeed.” 

They continue on west, to the next encampment of nerf. Anakin suddenly misses the weight of his lightsaber on his hip, although the weapon is useless in the face of his primal surroundings. Sometimes he wishes that he could convince Sheev to embrace a rural life, but as the years tick by and the weight of his exile continues to push down upon them both, there is no room for possibility.

”You have been distracted.” Fentis doesn’t mince words, and for that Anakin is largely grateful. It is when the man is right that the Jedi takes exception to his companion’s no-nonsense demeanor.

”I assume you’ve heard that the Galactic Empire has been formed?”

”Yes - a traveler one standard month before you arrived warned us, although what have we to fear? If the Empire comes to Naboo, it will be Theed they are after. Not us. We have nothing to offer a government.”

The Kinasa knew the depths of Naboo’s bounty better than any merchant or bureaucrat, although Fentis was correct; they would be overlooked as a quaint settlement of nerf herders, hardly worth a first glance let alone a second. The knowledge they kept - about the land and the Force, as Anakin had found out - was cloaked under a savage appearance. And they would do anything to protect both.

Anakin notices movement out of the corner of his eye, closing them briefly to allow the Force to hint at the target’s location. The wind kicks up only slightly, causing the long, thick grass under his feet to bend and sway. He holds his spear aloft, waiting for the right moment when the Force would inform the movement of his arm -

 _There_ , and he lets fly his weapon. Opening his eyes, Fentis nods in appreciation as a mature bull nerf is swiftly felled.

”A gift” Anakin says stoically “for both your friendship and your counsel. I wish you and your tribesman many years.”

Fentis smiles as they both move toward the fallen animal. He pulls the spear from deep within its belly - his arms, corded with thick muscle, make it seem as though the man exerts no effort at all to do so. It will take them all evening to skin and gut their bounty, but Anakin does not participate in this portion of the hunt. Anakin had told Fentis about his childhood as a slave; watching man and beast savaged in their turn. As in all things, Fentis does not begrudge Anakin’s unease.

”I will send the young men to fetch our day’s kills. I believe Trena mentioned freshly-brewed ale prior to our departure?”

There it is - when the world around him stops and all he can feel is a powerful, concentrated Force presence. He stares blankly at Fentis, unable to firmly grasp and dissect each sensation - anger, betrayal, fear, trepidation, regret, _love, love, love, please do not be angry_. It’s happened twice since he has been in the Galla, four more in the manor but even then he was unable to properly explain the effect to Palpatine.

”You are having one of your waking visions again.”

Anakin’s forehead breaks out in beads of perspiration, and he concentrates to call upon the Force to slow his pulse. “Yes, although I’m not sure why. It’s just the two of us out here, nothing else sentient enough to project complex thought and emotion. It’s a presence, layered in fear; it’s almost familiar.”

Fentis answers with a solemn nod. “I have felt something, something new, these last few weeks. The news from that traveler is concerning; perhaps those of us who are Sensitive are experiencing tendrils of the same concern in other beings.”

Anakin shrugs. “Perhaps. I’ll meditate when we return to the village.”

The leather-clad leader shrugs. “Or go to the Elder Cairn.”

It had been several years since Anakin had gone back to that place, enshrined as it was as the place wherein he had begun to love the then-Chancellor Palpatine. The Force flowed freely and uninhibited there, and every time he had gone he’d experienced such concentrated Sensitivity that he was unable to truly meditate for the profound power lurking in the ancient ruins. Fentis had become a close friend, and when he had described the Elder Cairn, Fentis knew it by name. The Elder Cairn was also considered a sacred site by the Kinasa, a place from which life originally flowed upward and touched each corner of Naboo. It was from those forgotten peoples who first dwelled there that life sprang forth, overseen and informed by the Force.

”An interesting idea.I don’t think going there will allow me any more clarity, but I’m sensing is a presence - not a generalized Force pulse.”

The way back toward the village takes just over an hour from their current position - plenty of time for Anakin to turn this over in his mind, but the message is clear: something is coming. Precognition isn’t a Force gift with which he was blessed, but he knows to trust his instincts.

And his instincts are telling him that the time has come; the time when both he and Palpatine would be faced with a choice. It is not a matter of if - it never has been - but a matter of when.

Fentis senses the sudden pang of fear in his Jedi companion, and slings a heavy arm around his shoulder.

”Whatever this is, whomever this is - you will not face it alone. The Kinasa are with you.”

Belonging: it is what Anakin had always wanted. Ten years ago, there had been no telling that he would end up fletching spears, leather between his calloused fingers, with a seemingly primitive but wildly Force Sensitive tribesman. What he had worked so hard to discover among the Jedi had come to him easily on Naboo, when he was just as much an exile as Palpatine. Here, he belonged.

There was no belonging to be found with the introduction of these new feelings, however. These sensations and proddings were weathered by age, but no less present.

When the sun was flirting with the edge of the mountain range, threatening to pull its light from the valley below, Anakin knew; he knew, without having to meditate beyond the pulls of sweet ale to his lips from the bone tankard Fentis offered, that what he had felt in the plains hunting was something he had felt before - what seemed like a llifetime ago in the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

Anakin shivers, suddenly longing for the comfort of the bed he shares with Palpatine; a sudden desire for home amid the growing sense that he was as vulnerable as the prey he hunted.


	4. twilight interlude in the tomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A former Jedi is the first to arrive on Naboo; or so she thinks. While paying respects at the final resting place of Padmé Amidala, Ahsoka Tano centers herself and prepares for the emotional upheaval to come. A figure from her past emerges at the tomb, and a long-overdue conversation ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really a chapter; rather, it's meant to be a bridge between Anakin's impending arrival to Theed so that Ahsoka and Obi Wan can begin to make amends. Ahsoka's going to be bitter for a hot minute, but she'd do anything for Ani. 
> 
> Zakuul is a planet in the Unknown Regions. 
> 
> This chapter briefly touches on the politics of this AU, which will become clearer in subsequent chapters.

Ahsoka had gotten used to Zakuul; now, she almost missed the fecund scent of the odiferous swamp planet, combined with the sweat of tens of beings from other worlds who passed through to offload shipments of spice and various black market offerings. Ahsoka had gotten used to Zakuul, and Ahsoka had gotten used to being a smuggler. Ahsoka had stopped thinking of herself as a Jedi years ago, but her ability to maintain mental shielding coupled with her use of Affect Mind had guaranteed prosperity and survival. Hers was a solitary existence, the memories of her time at the Temple on Coruscant did nothing to keep her warm when the mud roof of her ramshackle hut leaked, or when raiding parties ransacked what few supplies she could manage to stockpile. Even so, she found that living with no accountability to the mystical nature of the Force was far preferred to being under the thumb of the Jedi Order and its didactic tenets. 

Ahsoka had gotten used to being a criminal, because that is what the Council and the Senate had told her she was. When Yoda contacted her to bid her come to Naboo, what made her consider it rather than telling that ancient green zealot to go fuck himself was that he had apologized. Immediately. Completely uncharacteristic of the Jedi Grand Master she had known. And it was immediate and heartfelt, and he appealed to her sense of duty because the Empire’s fetid stench had wafted to Zakuul by way of several smugglers who offloaded their goods and sported nasty carbon scoring on their ships and blaster bolts in their bodies trying to dodge the Empire. And because it was the second time that her life had been upended due to unchecked institutional tyranny, she wasn’t going to let it happen again. Not to people she cared about. That impulsive, mop-headed meatsack full of hormones and cybernetics who had been her master was one of those people - and if this conference meant that they would work alongside one another again, it was an opportunity she had to take.

Her only sticking points were Kenobi and Palpatine; the former because he abandoned her as Anakin had, and the latter because he was the one who had effectively taken her title as a Jedi and made her a criminal. Hours of meditation en route to Naboo (and one revelatory conversation with Yoda) had shown her that there were multifaceted aspects to this story she couldn’t have known otherwise - but even then, her heart still hurt. It had been ten years, and she had found a place in the galaxy (if one could call Zakuul a ‘place’ - the word ‘hellscape’ came to mind), but the pain of the past had to be relieved somehow. This would perhaps be what healed her.

It had been eleven standard years since Ahsoka had found herself in the Chommel sector, let alone in civilized space, and she felt every bit the urchin her appearance suggested. Self-consciously wrapping the syntheleather bomber jacket around her too-thin frame, the familiar weight of a blaster pistol at her hip slapping against the threadbare pilot’s trousers she wore recovered some of the lost bravado she’d experienced landing right in the middle of Naboo’s opulent capitol. The discreetly-hidden lightsaber was also a welcome presence; technically she wasn’t supposed to have it, but she doubted that Yoda (or anyone else) would begrudge her reclamation of that which should have always been hers.

The conference would commence in twelve standard hours, but rather than read the briefing Yoda had sent over an impossibly-encrypted channel, her weary feet took her to the final resting place of once-queen and beloved Senator Padmé Naberrie Amidala. A woman she had idolized and respected, Ahsoka hadn’t ever found the chance to tell the famous monarch how much she had valued her contributions as a politician - something Ahsoka had never recognized during the Clone Wars, but which she had a newfound respect after the rise of the Empire. Now was just as good a time as any, though she found herself desperately wishing she had done so when Padmé had been alive.

The former queen was interred in a simple, white-washed stone vault raised on a matching dais in the middle of what appeared to be a columbarium dedicated solely to the Naberrie/Amidala family. Weathered plaques bore the names of her ancestors - various low-level aids and some upper-echelon politicians, and two queens before her. Padmé’s final resting place was the least ornate - the most unassuming. Just as she had been in life.

Ahsoka had made a conscious choice not to believe the rumor that Amidala had been a Sith Lady. It seemed too convenient, especially considering the circumstances under which that detail had been revealed. Anakin had sired twins - information that had been difficult to come by, but she had done her best to keep up with whatever news she could gather about her former master - and the reigning monarch at the time had woven a story about Padmé to distance the late Senator from the royal house to cushion the blow after Palpatine’s acquittal.

”An interesting perspective” a familiar voice intoned behind her. “Politics and morality are uneasy bedfellows, as I’m sure you know.”

Obi Wan Kenobi stepped out from behind an alabaster pillar; Ahsoka turned, eyeing him wearily. He was wearing a simple cotton tunic rolled to the elbows and a pair of woolen trousers. High black boots in which the trousers were bloused completed the picture of a simple man coming to pay his respects to the dearly departed; he didn’t look like a Jedi Master at all.

”I’ll thank you not browse my thoughts like that again.”

”My apologies. Your presence in the Force, after my time among banthas and thieves on Tatooine, was a blinding beacon. Your thoughts are loud” he adds, a bit apologetic. “I am unused to being in densely-populated areas. My mental shielding -”

”Can’t withstand the traffic. I know the feeling.” An uneasy silence befalls them, during which Ahsoka reaches out with her own Force ability. Kenobi’s shields are indeed a mess; if she were so inclined, she could have exacted tremendous (and perhaps deserved) damage by rifling through his emotions, but the sharp pang of vengeance she had experienced initially had cooled. Behind his eyes was a kind of exhaustion Ahsoka could identify in herself; even if this man had contributed to the destruction of the life she thought she knew, she couldn’t find it within herself to make him suffer for it now.

”I believe” Kenobi continues, either unaware or unaffected by Ahsoka having entered his mind for a brief time, “that the queen knew what would happen if Padmé’s death had been for naught. Anakin would have torn the galaxy apart, even without Palpatine’s help.”

”What?”

Kenobi sighs. “You did read the briefing, didn’t you?”

”Uh, no” she admits, annoyed “I didn’t. I just landed after mapping half of my own hyperspace routes from Zakuul. I was more concerned with not becoming intimately familiar with an asteroid than I was catching up on ten years’ worth of tired history.”

”This is not about you. Or me.”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “So it isn’t about the Jedi Order asking me for help after casting me out and branding me a traitor for a crime I didn’t commit? It isn’t about acknowledging the failings of the Order and the political system with whom it was allied? And don’t even get me started on how many beings are still displaced by the Clone Wars; how many planets are tapped of their natural resources to fuel the war that Palpatine created. You should know more than anyone that the galaxy was already on its knees; the Empire will be what kills it.”

Obi Wan folds his hands in front of him as though he were about to impart a stern lesson on a misbehaving youngling. It only serves to make Ahsoka’s blood return to the vengeful boiling point she had experienced when she first landed on Naboo. “This is about restoring peace and order to the galaxy. This is about confronting who Anakin might have become, and potentially even using him to overthrow the system in which he would have become complicit if Palpatine hadn’t agreed to cleanse himself of the midichlorians in his blood..”

The former Jedi’s heart nearly stops. “That’s barbaric.”

”We had to safeguard the galaxy.”

”And look where that got you.”

Obi Wan’s eyes seem to glisten even in the dark. “You were on Mortis too” he all but whispers. “You know what happened.”

Not even Ahsoka can argue that point, and perhaps it’s futile to point out that she too had temporarily given in to the Dark Side during their brief stay, but Kenobi was right: it wasn’t about her, or really any of the dignitaries attending the conference.

”So” Kenobi says after several beats “do you still believe Senator Amidala was Sith?”

Ahsoka lets her shoulders drop after being on-guard since Obi Wan’s sudden appearance. Her exhaustion is total; space travel had been kinder to her than Anakin, but as she was approaching her third standard decade of life, her body and the demands she had placed upon it in exile left her at a disadvantage when it came to long voyages. She felt that now; felt it in her bones, right along with the pulsing awareness of the real truth. “No. I don’t. Then again, there are a good many things I don’t believe about why we’re really here. Why Naboo?”

The aging Jedi master looks beyond her, to some distant point of light visible only to him. “Everything started here. This is where it must end.”

It was the most annoying, half-cocked parabolic nonsense Ahsoka had ever heard, and it reeked of Jedi self-righteousness.

But he was right.

There was nothing more to say, but when Ahsoka nodded and tried to walk passed Obi Wan, his arm shot out and she found herself gripped tightly by the Jedi Master. His blue eyes sear into her, having lost all of the hubris of his standing as a Master. Now, he was a simple man come to mourn a friend. Here, on Naboo, he was just as much a casualty of the Clone Wars and the archaic laws of the Order. He was a frail caricature of what he used to be - perhaps they all were. Perhaps Anakin was somewhere on the planet, and perhaps even he was not as handsome nor as brilliant as he used to be - perhaps he longed for the days when he was the Hero With No Fear. Maybe Ahsoka's life of solitude and clandestine vocation was the best she could have hoped for, considering the look with which Obi Wan pierced her. And it burrowed right through to her soul, that pleading gaze; whatever was left.

”Ahsoka Tano, I am truly sorry. There is nothing that I can say now that will take away the pain and betrayal you felt that day; but my hope is that you can find it in yourself to forgive me eventually. You did not deserve to be cast out, and you were certainly not forgotten. At least, not by me.”

”We’ll see” she grumbles, ignoring the sudden warmth that seemed to be stuck in her throat. Kenobi’s surprisingly weak grip loosens, and Ahsoka foregoes the accommodations granted to her in the Palace and elects to sleep in the cabin aboard her ship.


	5. arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man who would be emperor completes the final stages of negotiation for the raising of a mighty fleet to command on the eve of his introduction of the Military Creation Act.
> 
> Anakin feels a shift in the Force and returns to Theed.

Tarkin preferred to think of himself as a shrewd man; it was no insult to him when he rounded a corridor in the administrative offices on Coruscant and heard his name spoken in sharp, displeasing tones. They would indeed be venom to any other man, the things his peers said; but he was not any other man, and those low-level boot lickers were not colleagues, but rather stepping stones.

It is his acumen in both politicking and military knowledge that had propelled him to his current position. The Senate, who knew nothing of wartime insofar as what life was like on the front when their decisions adversely affected the way wars were fought, had bent and crumpled under his restrictive legislation. First went the banking clans, disbanded and unified, overseen by a sub-committee dedicated to seizing assets from clan heads on both Muunilinst and Nar Shaddaa. Those funds were then funneled away from the prying eyes of the Senate and locked in a Citadel on Scarif, safely tucked away in the Outer Rim to avoid prying eyes - and to await further appropriation for a project of which the Senate was blissfully unaware.

The other changes he had made had been more subtle. He had already appointed planetary governors to begin the work of aligning planets with useful resources in exchange for eventual security and prosperity of a new government. He had worked closely with a boyish, milquetoast engineer named Orson Krennic on creating a fleet of battlecruisers and flagships; those plans would take more time to solidify and manifest, but the funds he had secured from the abolished banking clans would see to the creation of a formidable fleet.

Now, on the eve of his introduction of the Military Creation Act and his subsequent ascension as the first galactic Emperor, Tarkin considered his next steps. He was not ignorant of the former Chancellor Palpatine’s standing as the reigning Sith Lord; and he would always be Sith, if Tarkin’s knowledge of the ancient religion taught him anything. The call to the Dark would be constant, and whatever method his caretakers employed to ensure his separation from the mystical, unseen currents that bound the galaxy together could be easily disrupted. Power was the most valuable currency, and Palpatine would not be able to ignore its siren song forever. With him as Tarkin’s ally, the Empire they bore between them could be the eternal empire to which Palpatine’s Sith forebears had aspired and never achieved. Standing in front of the panoramic plasteel window overlooking the bustling air traffic of Coruscant, he touched the commlink in his pocket and sent a frequency to Commander Krennic - a summons from the man who would be his emperor in the next standard twenty-four hours.

Tarkin was greeted by a weary but positive tone from his subordinate. “Yes, Governor?”

”The timeline you sent for the final drafts of the plans for the fleet are not to my liking. Do you not recall the significance of tomorrow?”

A beat of silence, and then “Of course, sir.” Krennic was just coming into his own as a formidable officer in his own right; Tarkin had taken him under his wing since the man’s time on Brentaal, molding him slowly into a man who believed his actions were autonomous but in reality were informed by Tarkin’s insidious prodding. Thus far, the man had proven a competent protégé; the most pressing concern was his connection to another brilliant engineer named Galen Erso, with whom he had attended Brentaal and, by Tarkin’s estimation, harbored some manner of unrequited affection. Tarkin used this to his advantage frequently, although the time would soon come when the governor would have a particular use for Erso’s knowledge.

”Your presence here would be most welcome while we discuss… details.” Tarkin had hesitated purposefully; Krennic’s presence was a balm not just in work, but it could be said that he was a weakness. Tarkin’s face falls in a half-sneer; he was not a man given to sentimentality, but the younger officer had grown on and had helped him quell the vicissitudes of life.

”I will arrive shortly.”

Tarkin sat behind his desk, thumbing a control panel that changed the tint of the plasteel window to a shade that would make it impossible for anyone outside to see what was happening within. Another keystroke brought a holoprojection of a spherical, planetary battle station: the Death Star.

Krennic, whose offices were below Tarkin’s by several floors, strode purposefully through the door without announcing himself. The sallow-faced officer preferred it this way; there was a time and place to observe hierarchical pleasantries such as announcing one’s arrival, but Krennic was his most trusted ally.

And, were Tarkin honest with himself, his most prized possession.

”Ah, Orson. I find myself spending these hours before the Senate session engaged in more wistful pastimes than befits a man of my station.”

”A man cannot sup on work alone.”

”Yes, well, this is certainly work; but the way I anticipate the construction of the Death Star is how most beings would anticipate the embrace of a lover. This is a long-held dream - an ambition, Commander. You ought to understand the gravity of such things; the way we long to transcend our lot. To achieve beyond what we think ourselves capable.”

”Indeed” is all Krennic manages in reply. Most displeasing; Tarkin had hoped that the boy would take the bait, the _invitation_ he had so carefully layered in his reminiscences of the Death Star plans. After all, theirs was a relationship born of similar ideology but, primarily, the same aching need for _more_. Krennic was just as greedy in that way as Tarkin himself.

”Now, your timeline” he begins, his voice returned to its commanding, velveteen smoothness for which he was known “is unacceptable at this juncture. The banking clans have been officially rendered defunct, and the funds moved to Scarif. You have authorization to go there and retrieve them, although you must do so with the utmost care. Who are your suppliers?”

”Sienar Technologies and Kuat Drive Yards, sir. I have been in talks with Raith Sienar for two standard weeks, and we have reached an agreement I think you will find most beneficial.”

Tarkin’s eyebrow quirks. “Go on.”

”Sienar has agreed to produce one hundred and twenty of the smaller fighters for an introductory rate of 400 million credits per. Any additional fleet ships, including retrofits for the hyperdrive and weapons upgrades we discussed, will be lumped into a sum of one billion to secure an ongoing contractual agreement. So long as we don’t contract anyone else for the fighters, he will agree to work alongside Kuat Drive Yards to build the hulls and ionization reactors for the battleships we designed.”

”Have you discussed this with KDY?”

”That conversation is forthcoming. I had hoped to negotiate on Kuat first, as they’re a Core World and Lianna is an Outer Rim territory.”

Tarkin’s thoughts screech to a halt.

”Commander, are you hesitant to depart for the completion of these negotiations because you would prefer to be on-world when I give my address to the Senate?”

Krennic swallows hard, taking a step forward. His uniform, a newly-commissioned prototype of an officer of the Galactic Empire in gunmetal gray, seemed to play against the piercing blue ice of his eyes. The rank bar, its pips shining even in the low-light of the office, seemed to gleam ethereally. Orson Krennic cut a striking figure, and Tarkin felt himself keen in admiration. “Have I not always been your most ardent supporter, governor?” His voice is glottal and condemning; like a rushing, bitter wind over the Carrion plateau.

And he has been indeed. Krennic is rough around the edges but commanding in his own right, intimidating to those beneath him in rank and begrudging competition to those above. His intellect and cunning are the foremost reasons why Tarkin chose him as his right hand; but now, Krennic’s intentions are laid bare and if the Governor of Eriadu were a less disciplined man, he would take advantage of the curious opportunity before him.

”You will support me best by representing our mutual interests in negotiation with Kuat Drive Yards and Raith Sienar. For what it is worth, I do not doubt your loyalty.”

If Krennic was at all offended by his superior’s sidestep, he doesn’t betray it. He simply nods. Somehow, this only adds to Tarkin’s confused torment. Relationship is 

”Now go. There is much to be done upon your return, _Director_ Krennic.”

”Thank you, sir.”

”You may thank your future success, as it is all the compensation I require to know that I have made the correct choice. I need men of action in my retinue.”

”An emperor deserves nothing less.”

”An emperor is only as effective as his worst adviser. Let this be your proving ground; do not disappoint me.”

Tarkin terminates the holoprojection of the massive superweapon, but the light-cancelling tint of his window remain. He turns his attention to a flimsi which contains his address to the Senate, and attempts to push away distracting thoughts which seem to orbit around Orson Krennic.

****

* * *

****

****

_drip_ _drip_ _drip_

Anakin’s eyes shot open, narrowing when he remembered that the Kinasa longhouses were not particularly well-constructed. The people of the Galla used what was available and rarely traveled to Theed or surrounding cities to acquire modern comforts.

Sitting up, the Jedi looked toward the offending section of the dwelling where the rainwater was steadily creeping through. The rest of the warriors were fast asleep on their bedrolls or cots, some even snoring. Muffling his movements, Anakin crept toward the leak, and held out his hand.

Three drops of water hung suspended in midair. It took a surprising lack of Force-manipulation on his part; while his abilities in his command of the Force had grown substantially since leaving Coruscant, rarely had he been able to exercise dominion over non-sentient objects with so little effort.

He looks closer, and inside those droplets are entire galaxies; entire possibilities, he thinks, perhaps like his galaxy with all its triumphs and tragedies. What he feels upon waking is a curious amalgamation of newness and familiarity; a burning hole in his core, hotter than anything he had felt on Mustafar. Anakin patches the hole - a temporary fix, but it is the rain that woke him. Satisfied, he reclines once again on his cot and stares at the mud-patched covering of the longhouse.

Fentis looms over him some time later - whether Anakin fell asleep or reached a trance state in meditation he isn’t certain - but the warrior is beckoning him to quietly come outside so it must have been earlier when he’d initially woken up. He rises slowly, a heaviness in his bones that wasn’t there before, and follows Fentis to the three line separating the settlement from the wilds of the Galla.

”You are leaving today” Fentis rumbles, more as a statement than a question, but with the hunting concluded Anakin’s departure had been a foregone conclusion. His presence never put the Kinasa in a bind before, so the intensity in the warrior’s eyes was alarming.

”Yes; with the end of my hunt, I would never presume to impose on your hospitality more than necessary.”

Fentis waves him off. “You are always welcome among us, but I fear your presence has drawn a pall over the village through no fault of your own. Did you not feel the wool on the loom snap?”

Anakin recalls that this is an adage unique to the Naboo, and one that Palpatine frequently used. It referenced ancient Naboo lore concerning the ‘Spinners of Fates’ - three old crones who sat at the base of the moon Veruna and wove the destinies of all Nubians. When the wool on the loom snaps, it is because one of the crones wound another’s fate too tightly and with too much turmoil, and the crone was thus inclined to begin again. It was arguably the first rudimentary explanation of the Force and all of the possible futures it portends - subjected as they were to the unsteady hands of old women.

”I did. You were there with me; is there something you need to tell me, Fentis?” Anakin felt his infamous impatience creep up in a flush on his neck. Fentis senses this and holds his hands up, palms facing outwardly, in surrender.

”It is not what I sense; it is what I do not sense which perturbs me, and I can’t identify what I’m feeling. It’s somewhere between fear and elation.”

Anakin nods; this is a problem most commonly associated with a Force-sensitive being accessing precognition without knowing how to traverse the river that is the Force, let alone its many offshoots and tributaries which only lead to more possibilities and, ultimately, questions. The Kinasa are Force-sensitive, but without the proper training, their dominion over the effects that the Force has on the psyche is severely limited.

”What you are experiencing the fear of one possible future among many. Millions; trillions even, and one choice could well impact just as many outcomes. We cannot compute that vastness without the aid of the Force. The sensation I experienced yesterday was a concentrated push; a shove from the Force itself. This morning, I was able to manipulate the rainfall to a small degree with no effort. You felt the effects of something that hasn’t and may not happen.”

The chief nods slowly. “This makes sense. I also need to tell you that, as I sorted through the sensations and experience, there was one recurrent thought which I must tell you; a whisper across the void of the galaxy: they are coming. They are coming, and you must help them.”

Anakin places his hands on Fentis’ shoulders. “Who are you talking about. Who called to you?”

”The Order” Fentis mumbles weakly. “That’s all they would tell me.”

Anakin usually travels on foot to the Galla, but as soon as the words leave Fentis’ mouth, he thanks the Living Force that he chose to take a beat-up swoop bike this time.


End file.
